Only Time Will Heal
by Prosper-the-XVIII
Summary: One-shot sequel to Scars Don't Fade. Life goes on for Evelyn in the wake of her torture (well, almost.)


**This is a part of the 'Scars' series (started with Scars Don't Fade, with another part called Tears Dry on their Own. I plan to write more one-shot sequels as its my personal favourite of my fics) and about seven months in the wake of M/Evelyn being tortured. This came about after I reread 'Tears Dry on their Own' and then watched about five hours of 'As Time Goes By' (I got the idea from when, during a two-hour special, whilst in bed, Lionel burlesquely tells Jean to 'stop fishing for compliments and go to sleep'. That line is going to be used here as well.) Basically, this is about Evelyn trying to come to terms with the nightmares that frequently plague her following her near-death in France (and her ridiculously unsupportive husband doesn't really help much as you will soon find out) and then thinking back after eventually coming to terms with it all post-SDF. Imagine Lana Del Rey's son 'Dark Paradise' playing whilst reading the first bit. It really adds to the mood as the lyrics seriously fit the theme that is carried through the entire series.**

* * *

Evelyn had never been overly fond of the dark. Now, it was pretty much a phobia**. **As she shook herself awake, freeing herself from what she had been unintentionally reliving whilst asleep, she held herself up on one elbow, ignoring her shaking breaths and the sweat now staining her pyjama top in a few incredibly undignified places and flicked on her bedside lamp. A heavy sigh of relief left her lips as the familiar surroundings of her own bedroom appeared as her eyes adjusted to the light.

A heavy moan from the lump with his back to her – in other words, her husband Matthew- told her that she'd already managed to do what she'd been trying her level best to avoid. He wasn't brilliant (or rather didn't really care) when it came to dealing with her now recurring nightmares that had been part of the package after she'd been tortured whilst on her latest and at that final mission a matter of months ago - along with that she had had to spend about two months in intensive care and four after that wheelchair-bound – so she had been left to her own devices on that front.

Her general plan was always the same when it came to getting herself together. Get up. Try and avoid disturbing/waking Matthew. Limp through to the bathroom on crutches – since she had been shot in the back of the knee on said mission/freak accident her leg had completely point-blank refused to move. Try and avoid throwing up if possible. Calm herself down, generally by means of drenching her face in cold water. Have a shower if it really was that bad. Change pyjamas. Go back to bed. But that had gone wrong before phase three this time.

"Evelyn, what the hell is going on?"

"Nothing," she felt a little stupid when she realised that her voice was shaking.

"I take it that 'nothing' is you getting worked up over something that happened ages ago again?"

"When you, your all-night poker games, mistresses and general cushy existence know what being shot thirty-something times over three days feels like, then you can let me know. It's not something that's easy to forget about, Matthew. If it was, all this wouldn't happen every bloody night."

"Well, it would help if you would stop feeling sorry for yourself." He pointed out blatantly and somewhat unfairly.

"Thank you," Evelyn turned over, tears stinging her eyes. As she turned the light off again, shuddering when visions of what had happened all those months ago played about in her head now that she couldn't see anything and her imagination was free to try and mentally break her a second time, she muttered; "In a way, it still hurts."

She knew that any kind of sympathetic response was too much to hope for. As she felt him turn over, she heard the gruff reply; "Stop fishing for compliments and go to sleep."

The light went on again. "There's a pretty big difference between trying to come to terms with mental scars and looking for sympathy and as you say, 'fishing for compliments'."

"I know there is, and you're doing the latter. Get over it, Evelyn; you've been told that there's no way you're going to go back to being an agent even after your leg's totally healed, there's not even a slightly remote possibility of it happening again, so stop getting your knickers in a twist about it. It's over, okay?"  
She nodded limply. That was possibly the most supportive thing he had ever said to her; she was willing to ignore the first comment. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Now shut up and go to sleep."

* * *

M didn't exactly regret telling Eve what she had about what had happened to her all those years ago. She had come to terms with giving Tiago up. And talking about what had happened had made it easier to deal with. However, when she had told Eve about it, she had realised that she needed to stop living in the past.

She stared hard at the old photo of herself she had in her hand, looking from that to one of the multitudes of scars on her arms. She knew that she had always needed to put it behind her, and though it felt good not worrying about nightmares all the time, not thinking about her past had made her feel inhuman; emotionless. She remembered Tanner's old 'Evil queen of numbers' jab, and if ever, that suited how she felt about herself now.

She traced the face of the woman in the photo. She was someone else entirely now. She wasn't the woman standing smiling in a black dress. She wasn't Evelyn any more. She was M.

That Evelyn was dead; a thing of the past remembered by M the way that someone might think of a dead pet...and M missed her.

-FIN-


End file.
